


It always seemed to work ...

by Thenia_Chris



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Blood and Gore, Mirrors, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Whipping, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thenia_Chris/pseuds/Thenia_Chris
Summary: Erik once again finds himself walking alone in his underground home, and the voice won't cease
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	It always seemed to work ...

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote that small fic as a solo on my Erik role-play account on Twitter (@PHANTOMIISM). There's really no backstory to it from previous rp.

Once again he could feel the emptiness, a feeling like a bottomless pit inside his chest. A feeling not even the divine music could make disappear. But it could disappear…

A lifetime, and yet he only ever learnt to fight the pain with pain, the fire with fire. It didn't seem to work for him otherwise. Not for a monster of his kind. Not for those who deserved to be called monsters, beasts and animals… 

As nighttime neared, and the Opera populaire got quiet, the Ghost could finally walk freely around his theatre without the fear of being spotted. Perhaps this would help him clear his head, get rid of these dark thoughts that haunted him; thoughts of misery, failure and pain. No, he wouldn't have any of that. Not right now, not anytime soon…  
But there's only so little one can do when these thoughts become unbearable, torturous even. When the emptiness inside keeps growing and growing, at last consuming the soul. 

Erik was soon back to his underground home, the only place where he could be alone, safe from the eyes of the world. Yet sometimes, this very sanctuary felt like a prison in the deepest depths of hell. Sometimes it was just as painful as living in that damned cage he was held in for so many years…

Fight the pain with pain… It always seemed to work.

Walking through the numerous hidden rooms of his home, the Phantom gathered what he needed and made his way to the small washroom at the end of the hallway. Scanning his surroundings, he was thankful he didn't spot Ayesha anywhere near. It would seem like the feline could sense his emotions… 

Finally he unlocked the door, opening to a small room with a mirror and a bathtub inside. Setting his things down, the long, black cape finally came off, meeting the hard floor with a light thub. The jacket followed. Layer after layer of clothing fell onto the floor until his top half was bare. The cold air felt like metal bars against his scarred skin, and yet, whatever pain this might cause to the damaged nerves of his back, it wasn't enough. Not enough to drown the feelings, the thoughts. 

Falling down on his knees in front of the full sized mirror, the phantom looked at his reflection, finally removing the white mask for the first time since he had returned. Horrible golden eyes stared back at him with hatred and shame. The eyes only a monster could possess. A demon from hell. 

Taking the leather stripes he had once cut from a clothing piece for this exact use, he braided them together, turning them onto a thick and hard, small whip. These terrible eyes examined the texture of it for a small amount of time before they closed. 

And he strikes. 

On his own back, moving his arm over his shoulder, hitting directly at the area between the shoulder blades, over old scars. And he repeats the same, again and again… Harder and harder until the skin is torn.

Only a few… he tells himself. Only a few more…

Droplets of blood land on the floor as the makeshift whip cuts through the air and lands on his back once again. Breath caught in his throat, his hands are trembling now. Overwhelmed.

Why? 

WHY?

Why had he sank so low?

He's looking at his reflection now, almost able to see the living corpse in the mirror, almost hearing the laughter of the audience as the tears of blood run down his back. On the floor. Even on the wall behind him. But his face always remained the same, angry, staring at this thing in the mirror...

Fight the pain with pain… It always seemed to work

Eventually, he broke, when he stroke directly on a mass of damaged nerves that send electric waves of pain to his limbs. His entire body jerked before he fell forward. Hands in front of him protected him from falling on the floor. 

What previously felt like ice against his back was now burning as the warmth of his own blood rolled down his scattered skin. It made him shiver, wanting to hit against the wall to stop the burning sensation, but he refused to move. The voices from the audience got louder now. The whip was tossed aside.

Monster!

Murderer!

Freak of nature!

Filthy animal!

The mirror was shattered under the monster's fist. The first tear slipped away from the edge of his eye, and many followed as the infamous phantom broke down in tears, sobbing violently in his palms. 

Fight the pain with pain… it always seemed to work...


End file.
